


Wait and be Patient

by Whookami



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Character Study, Introspection, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, technically polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whookami/pseuds/Whookami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An introspective look at Newt as he struggles with the weight of being second in command, with decisions that have no right answers, and with the possibility that he might lose everything in life that keeps him moving forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait and be Patient

I want to throttle him, every time he comes around, dark amber eyes full of questions. I don't have any answers. That won't change from one hour to the next. All I can do is tell him to wait. Wait and be patient. The words are hollow. I'm saying them to myself, really. Wait. Be patient. They'll be back, Newt, they promised you. I have to keep telling myself this, clinging to it like a raft in a storm tossed ocean. 

I want to scream, to punch him to the ground and stare down at him, those eyes unable to see why I'm so angry, what his questions are costing me. He doesn't know. I can't hold it against him, but some lesser part of my heart wants to. To make him pay for his questions, to make him feel as small and hopeless as I do. I can't do it. I'm not that person. There is unkindness in me, hatred and hurt, but not so much that I would want to destroy him like that. 

I want him to hold me. To wrap me up in his arms and keep me from falling apart. I need to be squeezed so tight that I feel I'll never be let go again. I want them to see it, to see someone new comforting me. I don't let many in, and they know it. I am there for others, the one people come to, the one they can trust with their feelings and fears. I don't trust anyone with my own, not really. Only three people before him have earned enough measure of my respect that I've let them see more than the face I wear to keep others happy. One is dead. The other two have left me. Are they dead? I see that question in so many eyes. Every time I see it I want to holler and cry and break the person who dares to think such a thought. They can't be dead. They know how much I need them both. They promised to come back to me. They also left me, though. They know what they mean to me. They know they are the only two people holding me together, stopping me from giving up. 

Except, they aren't. The number has gone back up to three. There is something about Thomas that earns my trust quicker than I had known possible. I like order and logic, rational thought that leads to a well planned ending. What I feel around Tommy is something I don't like, but can't deny. There is no reason to trust him, to like him, yet my instincts tell me I should. I can't give myself any reasons beyond a mysterious feeling urging me to rely on him, to listen to him in particular. Right now is not a good time though. I may not be a bad person, but that doesn't always mean I'm nice. I want him right now. Not because of who he is, but to show Alby and Minho the consequences of leaving me like this. I want to spite them, to flaunt around before them in Tommy's arms. I want to hurt them like I am hurting right now. 

I know better than to do something so callous, so shallow, to an innocent person. Not that Thomas is perfectly innocent, those curious eyes and questioning lips were made to get people into trouble. I believe his intentions are good though, even if it still bothers me that I have no evidence to back the feeling up. He asks me for the millionth time why I won't send others out, why we must wait. Wait. Be patient. 

I think of Nick, the person who was my third, before he died, before Thomas came to fill that void. Did he feel like this before? Did he struggle like I am right now? I looked up to Nick like a big brother, an idol. He was everything I wanted to believe in when I woke up empty and vulnerable in the Glade. He was quick to bring things to order, to get people moving forward with a goal, with tasks and precision. It was a little clumsy and messy at times, but he kept us believing, kept us moving forward. Together, he and Alby shaped the Glade into what it is now. He believed in order and rules and consequence, just as I do. He was kind to me, listened to me, like a good leader. Alby isn't the most emotionally sensitive. He blows up a lot in frustration. Once you slip past his defences, sneak your way around the minefield of his emotions, he can be one of the best friends you will ever have. His sense of purpose and loyalty is unfaltering. We became friends, as unlikely as it seemed, given our rather differing natures. Alby told me once he thought he was a bad influence, that before I started hanging with him I was a nicer kid. I deny it. He thinks his abrasiveness wore off onto me. I'm just a little rough around the edges. I can listen and laugh and be at ease with others, but I'm only human. I get grumpy a lot. I speak gruffly and directly. I don't sugarcoat things. I act like that because that's who I am, not because of him. He seems to think that without his influence, and Minho's, I'd be like some perfect being, like a princess in a fairytale. I tell him to go to hell whenever the subject comes up. I am not perfect. Far from it. He didn't want to see that in me, didn't want to admit it. I wonder if he was surprised by what happened, or if he was just waiting. Being patient. 

Did Alby follow Nick around, like Thomas now follows me? Did he question our leader at every step, make him doubt himself, make him want to scream until his head exploded? That's how Tommy is making me feel. I can't get away from him, even when he's not at my side his eyes are following my every step. Step, shuffle. Step, shuffle. I limp back and forth before the towering massive doors and pretend like this is normal. I pretend I'm not afraid. 

I haven't been back out there since. I don't want to see it. I don't want to remember it. It's not the falling, not the pain, those I can handle. It's the overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The sense that the walls strain forever up into the sky and there will never be a way to escape them. I fear that feeling like no other. It swallows my mind whole. They both knew, Alby and Minho, before they ran in. They know what the maze has done to me. It's poison hopelessness has infected me worse than a griever sting, and I don't dare ever go back in there. Having to listen to the shifting of the walls at night is bad enough. They both know it. Whoever is holding me that night will squeeze me tighter and whisper into my ear that I am safe. How can I be safe when I'm still trapped inside these bloody walls? The flimsy illusion of safety in the Glade can't hold out the despair forever. I think that's why Minho won't give up. The Glade may be safe, but it is still a part of the trap. The mechanism is simply delayed. They both worry that I am the timer. When Newt goes off, that will be the end of one phase of the trap and onto the next. Except, there won't be a next, not for me, not again. Keeping me in the Glade will work for a while, but even I don't know how long. I want to say permanently. I want to believe it. It's what I promised them. I'm afraid it's a promise I won't be able to keep. 

Right now I wonder why should I? They know what the maze is to me, and they left me for it. The two people I depend on have given themselves up to the monster that keeps me awake at night, that forces me to find a warm and willing pair of arms to hold me close and keep the nightmares at bay. What will I do tonight if the doors should close with them on the wrong side? What will I do tomorrow, and the night after that? The stones that litter the ground are a good way to spend my energy and frustration, hurling them one by one into the gaping maw of the maze entrance. It feels irrationally good, defiant. Moments like that are what manage to convince me to try a little harder, to want to make it to another day. I want to wrap my own hands around the throats of those who put us here and squeeze until I can make a fist. I'm not sure I could truly do it if given the chance. It's a warm fantasy to entertain in the dark places of my own mind, but I don't know if I could ever make it real. I hate the people who put us here, who have killed my friends and treated us like we're disposable. I don't think I can kill though. I can't break a rule so integral to how I see the world. I can certainly punch their faces in a bit though. I can do that much without losing any sleep over it. Not that I get much sleep nowadays. I worry that after today I won't be able to sleep again. Or that maybe I will want to sleep permanently. I try not to think about it as I stare down the endless empty corridor of my enemy, willing my friends to appear. 

Am I doing the right thing? Thomas is the only one questioning my decision, but his words pull more weight than they have any right to. We set up these rules for a reason. They are meant to keep us safe, and I mean to follow them. I will not risk throwing away another life into the maze for just a chance that it might save Alby and Minho. I could never justify that to myself, or to the other Gladers. I can't put my own needs above anyone else's. I want them back, I want them found, but I will not order another to do that for me. I can't do it for myself. I tell myself it is because without me the Glade would be leaderless, without guidance and direction. I know it's a lie. I'm afraid to go in there, even to save the two people most important to me. If I was brave enough to go, Gally would gladly step into the position of leader. He wouldn't try to stop me, I don't think. We both value order, rules and regulations, and yet we couldn't possibly be more different. Gally sees rules as a way to control his world and maintain his position, to exert force over events and keep things unchanging. I see rules as a way to keep even the least of us safe, to make it so that everyone is accountable and order can be kept. Neither way is wrong in a higher sense, but that doesn't mean I'll ever see eye to eye with the bloke. 

Did Nick try to stick to the rules like I am? I want the answer to be yes, that he would believe in the rules just as much as I do. I don't know though. I could ask, but if I did that now the answer might destroy me. Alby entered the maze, he came to find me on the day I wasn't planning on coming back. I'll never know if he got Nick's permission, or if he broke the rules to come and save me. I hope to never know, at least. Once again, I've never asked. I was too angry with him at the time, and then later I was just too afraid to know the truth. I wanted to put everything in the past. I tried to, until today. Now I can't help but dwell on that day in my mind, wondering how it played out before. Wondering if my choices are the same, if they will lead to the same outcome, or if patience really can prevail, if the rules I believe in will fail me or not. 

Everyone is crowded around. Some unbidden sense of community has drawn us together to stare down the throat of the monster about to dine on our friends. Only minutes are left, and then a lifetime of wondering how I might have done it differently. My right leg is particularly sensitive to the minute tremors that silently signal the closing of the walls. Soon others can also feel it, and we hold our collective breaths, afraid to move or speak. 

Or so I thought. It is Thomas' voice that cuts through the silence, hollering and cajoling us to look ahead. Minho is staggering at the end of the long expanse of corridor, Alby's form slumped against his side. People start to cheer and call to them, beckoning them forward. I've run these halls before. I know each step. I know how long it takes. I know how long it is for the door to close. I know that they cannot make it. I am not guessing or being pessimistic. I know this for a certainty. Even at a dead sprint, Minho will barely be able to make it. His only choice is to abandon Alby. He must drop him and run. Run harder and faster than he ever has before. Yet, he doesn't. I want to cry. I want to hit him. I want his arms around me as I pound my fists against his chest and demand answers. Instead I stare forward bleakly. I can feel how wide my eyes are, and I know he is looking towards me. Minho still doesn't drop Alby. They aren't going to make it. I don't understand it. I don't understand Minho's choice. He knows what they both mean to me. He knows that without them I am alone. Why won't he let go of Alby and return to me, so at least one of them will still be at my side? I can't help but feel that he doesn't want to. He doesn't want the responsibility of taking care of me all by himself. I can't blame him. I know my thoughts are irrational and selfish. This isn't about me. I refuse to let it be. And so, I'm left wondering why he won't save himself, just for his own sake. 

I don't want to keep watching. I don't want to see the two most important people in my life vanish in front of me. I don't want to see Minho deliberately letting it happen. I'm going to be alone. I'm afraid. I can't be alone, I don't know how to be on my own any more. People think I am strong, and maybe in some ways I am. Not in this way, though. I need support, I need someone who will be there for me at the end of the day when my thoughts stretch long and dark like shadows. I need someone to keep me warm and remind me that dawn will come again in the morning. Terror is thick in the back of my throat and my fear is spiralling out of control. Only seconds have passed, and yet so many thoughts have crashed through my mind like a car careening out of control. I look for my last hope, my last selfish desire. I need someone to ground me, someone to stop the tide of emotions that are rising up inside me as the maze is about to claim for itself a huge portion of my world, of what I love most.

Time feels slow as I turn my head. Tommy is right beside me. If I reach out my hand just a fraction I can touch him. I can hold him and ask him to hold me in return. I just need to reach out, to connect. I am moving so slowly. Each beat of my heart echoes in my chest, long and drawn out. The voices clamouring around me are stretched, rumbling and deep, each syllable filling an eternity. Thomas's face doesn't turn to me, but his eyes slide to offer me a glimpse. I can see it before it happens. I look at his eyes and I know what is about to transpire. The doors are almost closed and he has bolted forward, propelling himself between them and into the death that waits beyond. My arm has finally reached out, hand extended to take hold of the last person I had left. The doors have closed with a thunderous sound, and I am still standing there, grasping forward to catch someone who has already gone. He is gone and I am alone. 

People mill about me, their cheers turned into whispers and stifled cries. Others are trying to talk to me, to touch me and crowd around me. They aren't the ones I want. They aren't the ones I have given pieces of myself to. It was hard enough when I lost Nick, when I realized that the void he left would never close. Now, everything else I had left to cling to is gone, and I am falling farther than I could have imagined. I am falling down inside myself, through my own shadows and into nothingness. I don't know if there is anything left inside me to give to anyone else. I don't know if I would ever want to. I don't ever want to feel this way again, this sense of loss that is drowning me. It would be better to never let it happen again.

I slump to the ground as the Gladers watch on. They try to lift me, try to get me to move. I scream obscenities at them, pushing them away. I don't want to be touched. I don't want to try and find another to replace what was just stolen, to let myself get hurt again. I say horrible things, I make a huge fuss. I don't stop until they get the idea and begin to shuffle away toward the homestead. After several minutes pass I lift my voice again, softly this time, just enough to say "Go, Chuck. Go to bed." I wish I could offer him comfort, but I don't even have enough of that for myself right now. I feel his steps as he walks off, lost and as alone as I am, but I can't help him. 

I wait until the light is fully extinguished, the sky above filled with a black void. With a sense of numbness I push myself off the cold earth and stumble blindly through the soft hush of the Glade. If anyone notices me, they don't call out. I'm glad. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain how I reacted earlier, how to ask for forgiveness for what I said to make them go. I don't know if it matters to me. Everything inside me feels blunted and dull. I walk forward without a destination in mind, but am unsurprised by where I arrive. I kneel in front of Nick's grave, the letters still clear as I run my fingers over them. It's too dark to see, but I'm grateful for that. Feeling is more than enough right now, more than I can take. I've detached myself so it won't hurt as much, but I doubt I can keep it up forever. I sit at Nick's grave, and ask him what I did wrong. I ask why this happened, to him, to them, to me. I ask him what I should do next. Nick is a lot less helpful in death than he was in life. He still comforts me though, and he is safe for me to open myself up to, because the piece of myself I gave to him is still here. I won't lose anything more by staying with him tonight. I imagine three more graves being added tomorrow to this grove. Three more names to run my fingers over in the dark where no one can see me. Three empty graves, but their spirits will be here, as well as the parts of me entrusted to their care. It's the only consolation I can think of. I lean forward and press my forehead to the rough wooden plank, feeling his name pressing against my skin. I talk. I talk for hours, until I have no more left to say. I talk until I am empty and all my words are buried with the boy before me. Then I curl up on the packed dirt of Nick's final resting place, and wrapping my arms about myself, I cry. 

At some point, I sleep. 

In the morning I wake early and splash my face with cold water, relieve myself in private and pretend like today is just the same as any other day. I force my face into an emotionless mask as I walk out from beneath the trees and into the steely greyish light. Several quiet figures move about the Glade, solemnly going about their morning rituals. Absent is the usual chatter and relaxed laughter that we engage in to act like any part of our lives here is normal. The scent of food wafting from the kitchen area makes my stomach clench up in a tight cramp. My throat instinctively closes as I struggle not to bring up everything I've eaten in maybe the past week or so. It feels like that at least. I scrub my face with both hands, breathing in deep the scent of earth and leaves that still clings to my skin. I find this calming, it helps centre my being and I'm able to straighten up and stand properly. I don't want to eat though. I want to go work in the gardens and go about like nothing has changed. Eyes are already picking me out of the crowd. They are looking to me for leadership, guidance. I didn't ask for this. I don't want it. I never wanted to be second in command. It isn't my fault that Alby is shit at dealing with peoples' emotions. Was shit. He's dead now. I'm here, and I'm what these people have left. Without meaning to, without wanting to, my eyes are drawn towards the western wall. 

A single figure sits before the closed door. I can't make them out clearly, but I know with a sense of certainty that it is Chuck. He took up my vigil when I abandoned it. He's lost something important too, the first thing he had to hold onto here. It's only been a bit over a month for him, and he is losing the first person he loved. It's a different kind of love, Thomas is like a brother, like someone to fill the blank space where his family should be. I screwed up last night, lost in my own selfishness. I couldn't see beyond my own losses, but I have a chance to keep trying. I cross the Glade, glad to get as far from the kitchens as possible. I don't know if I'll be able to eat again. I will, of course, but right now it seems impossible. I walk up behind the boy, he turns slightly to look up at me. His eyes are huge and wet, but he hasn't cried, not yet. I don't know if it is because he is stronger than me, or that he hasn't been here long enough to understand how hopeless the situation is. If this had been me, a little more than a month in, would I still have faith? Would I have made different choices? I don't want to think about it, I don't want to hurt over possibilities left unexplored. I left those feelings behind in Nick's care last night. Chuck lifts his chubby body up off the ground and stares up at me in hope. I refuse to give in. It won't help him if I lead him on, if I tell him there is still a chance. It is better to be honest and let the pain come now, before it can grow too large to confront. I try to tell him all this, try to let him down easily but with a grim finality. I can see in his eyes that he doesn't understand, or that he refuses to. I can't do anything more for him, so I clap him on the shoulder and begin to shuffle away, feeling the first silent tremors rising up through the soles of my shoes. I have to decide what to do next, what to tell everyone. I have to apologize. Behind me the doors begin to creak open. 

"Thomas!! It's Thomas!!"

I hear the call of Chuck's voice, high and eager and full of excitement. I raise my head, staring at him in disbelief, but his eyes are glued on the opening passage, his face alight with ecstasy. I don't want to look. I am afraid of what I'll see when I do. I can't help it though, I can't resist the call of Chuck's delighted yells. Others can't either. I feel more than hear others as they start to come running towards us. I'm back standing at Chuck's side in an instant, my chest tight with a scream I'm unwilling to give in to. All three of them are there, Minho and Thomas supporting Alby's slumped body between them. All three of them came back. Two of them kept their promise. One of them did what I couldn't bring myself to do. 

Everyone is hollering and cheering and making a fuss as they stumble back into the Glade, others rushing forward to help them. Alby is laid out on the grass, Clint and Jeff already pushing boys back as they try to crowd around. He's been stung. He is carried away from me towards the Homestead, towards the grief serum that will save him. I hope it can save him. It didn't save Ben. Gally has never been the same. I want to believe though. I want to believe this will work and Alby will be alright. It's dangerous to allow myself this hope, but staring at the med-jacks as they carry him away, I find myself unable to help it. 

Everyone is congratulating Thomas and Minho, cheering and asking questions and watching them in amazement. Minho tells the tale, makes Tommy into a hero figure, larger than life. I see the scowl deepen on Gally's face and I know in the back of my mind that this will breed discontent within him. I will have to watch him carefully, choose my actions with caution. Right now though I let myself get lost and caught up in Minho's sonorous voice as he continues the story, weaving a picture of fear and survival. Of hope. I shiver though I'm not cold. For now I have to be realistic, to think things through, but I am aware of a feeling inside myself I haven't felt in a long time. It is like waking from a sleep you didn't know you had fallen into. Thomas tries to downplay everything, to be humble and diminish what he has achieved. I think he feels Gally's gaze, the way the other boy hates him beyond reason. Tommy knows enough to be careful around the Keeper of the Builders, for now at least. 

They tell the tale again, in bits and pieces. They elaborate at request, answer questions and correct assumptions. They also look like shit. I tell them to go, get some food and rest for now, and we'll continue this later when they've recovered a bit. Thomas looks grateful, his body heavy and eyes tired. Minho shoots me a suspicious look, like he can't believe I'm letting him off so easily. I'm not. I'm not about to call him out in front of everyone though. He'll find this part out later, when I feel like it. For now they both scamper off towards the kitchens, a few cooks leaving with them, who had rushed over to watch the commotion. As they go I am struck by how beautiful they are right now, how they have been made perfect to my eyes in the wake of impending endless grief. They are transformed into something amazing and precious and beyond my limited understanding, and I can't even breath as they slowly fade from my view. I can't remember ever feeling something this powerful before and I can't help but think that this is what love is. Is it?

Soon after everyone else disperses. I'm left alone staring at the now empty corridor of the maze with Chuck. I'm surprised he didn't rush off right away behind Tommy. I look down at him, and he's looking back up at me with eyes full of brightness. I tremble, and tell him I'm sorry. I tell him I was wrong. I'm suddenly crying, great big gasping sobs as my shoulders shake and I have to cross my hands over my chest to keep it together. He watches me solemnly and allows me to get it out. Chuck smiles and says it's okay, that we should believe in Thomas. Wiping my face, I nod and agree. I do believe in Thomas. The boy reaches up and pats my shoulder, like I am the kid and he's the adult. He walks away after, maybe after Tommy, or maybe to be alone and get his own feelings in check. Today won't be an average day in Glader life, but there is still plenty to do. 

I visit Alby first. Clint has given him the serum and laid him out on a cot, covered by a thin blanket. His chest is rising and falling quicker than usual, but I'm told that's normal at this stage of treatment. Later there will be screaming and panic and many other symptoms to deal with. For now there is quiet, and I'm grateful. I sit silently at his bedside, wrapping one of his huge hands between both of my own. It's funny how my hands look weak and fragile, so pale against the warm earthy colour of his skin, when the opposite is true right now. I bring his fingers to my lips and kiss them lightly, carefully. I run them along my cheek, pretend like he is doing it himself, like he has a hundred times before. I can imagine him doing it again, when he is awake, when the serum has cured him. I kiss his brow before I leave. It's covered in a thin sheen of sweat and feels feverish against my lips, but he feels alive and I couldn't be more grateful. 

Hours have passed as I watched over Alby, and thankfully the innate sense of order that keeps the Glade functioning has continued without me needing to step in. Everyone is hard at work, even the runners are moving about and helping others with tasks, since their own was cancelled for the day. Until I know more, until I am confident I'm not sending people out into a death trap, no one is going running. Of course, there is no day that the maze isn't a trap, but I mean more so than usual. With that thought in mind I go searching for Minho. I know him well enough to know he couldn't possibly have rested for this long. He would be too wound up after a night spent being hunted, surrounded by grievers. He's in the first place I look, because of course he is. He's Minho, and he wouldn't have been anywhere else. He is in the map room, staring at a few pieces of paper scattered before him. It looks like he's tried to remember and scribble down as much of what happened last night as he can. Even the smallest detail might be of use later, even if it seems unimportant now. He isn't surprised to see me, and stands up as I approach. 

Suddenly I am running across the small room, barreling into him with what speed I can muster in the limited space. I slam him against the wall, my hands balled up in the fabric of his shirt. I shake him, shoving him back again and again as he tries to push forward. He forgets that I'm not weak sometimes. Everyone does. One minute I am snarling, holding him pinned to the wall in a death grip, the next I've buried my head in the crook of his neck, fingers digging at the fabric of his shirt, tears flowing unashamedly. He wraps his arms around me and lets me yell at him awhile. He doesn't argue or retort for once in his life because he can see how afraid I am, how close I was to coming apart. He apologizes with soft kisses and his hand tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. I exhale against him and revel in the reality of him. His heart beats against my chest, his breath tickles my ear. He is okay. Somehow he is miraculously okay. I want to stay like this longer, but time never stops in the Glade. I have responsibilities and so does he. Gally wants to hold a Gathering. I knew this would happen, I know what it is he wants. He wants to destroy Thomas, to shatter him before this victory can give him any more power or influence in the Glade. Thomas doesn't play by the rules, he has not earned what he is being given in the eyes of the Keeper, and it must be stopped. Thomas cannot be allowed to gain any more ground before he is challenged, this is how Gally must feel. I can tell by the steely look in Minho's eyes that he understands this too. He hates Gally the most, possibly. I may not like him, but he respects the rules and supports them, and so I've never had reason to call the other boy out. Doesn't mean I like him. Minho doesn't care about fair treatment and playing nice. He won't hesitate to tell Gally how he really feels. I'm glad he'll be at the Gathering with me. I can't pick sides though, I can't let myself choose favourites. Even if I care for Tommy as much as I think I do, worry I do, I must be fair. If not, then everything I have done was a lie, was in error. I can't undo myself and my choices like that. I can be impartial. I might be the only one in the Glade who can be, now that Nick is gone. Emotions run too high, fear and frustration mount too quickly around here. I'll do what they can't, for everyone. 

I leave Minho regretfully, walking backwards from the small room. I am afraid that if I look away he'll be gone. I'll wake up on Nick's grave alone again. I keep eye contact until I absolutely can't anymore. He gives me a sly smile and wiggles his fingers at me. He's teasing me again. I let him get away with it for now, because I am still too close to the memory of feeling I had lost him forever. I can have him make it up to me later. 

Thomas is in his corner of the deadheads, a blanket clutched to his chest. It's one of the ones I covered him with the first night I saw the idiot come to sleep out here. He isn't asleep, though. One of his hands is lightly stroking the fabric, like it soothes him. He doesn't really look at me until I am crouched down in front of him. His eyes are puzzled and full of a million thoughts. I can practically hear his mind turning the events of the past few days over and over in his head, trying to make sense of things. There might not be any sense to be found, but I don't bother telling him this. There isn't a point, he would know it already, but wants to try regardless. I don't know what I'm feeling as I stare at him. He left me. He abandoned me. I was alone. He saved them. He came back. How am I supposed to feel? I'm hurt and grateful and desperate and afraid and a million other things all at once. Then I am kissing him, my hands cupped to either side of his face, calloused fingers running over the softness of his cheeks. Both our lips are chapped, I can tell as I run my tongue along his, but it's just another sign of our reality. His warmth, the way he shivers at my touch, the tentative way he kisses me back. Each of these things reassures me that he is alive and real and in this instant at least, he is mine. I press our foreheads together and admonish him in harsh whispers, telling him never to leave me again, never to be so foolish. I tell him to love me and to hold me and how grateful I am to him. His eyes are still full of confusion, but something else also glimmers in their depths and his arms wrap tighter about me. I relax against his chest, the blanket caught between our bodies, muffling the beat of his heart. We breath together though, in the quiet of the trees, and I know that I really have given away another piece of myself. I couldn't help it and don't regret it. It feels just as natural as it had the first three times. We talk softly, and I tell him about the Gathering. I warn him about Gally. He knows he cannot trust the other boy, can see the desire to bring Thomas down, a primitive and animalistic need burning in the Builder's eyes. I don't know what has caused Gally to hate Tommy so much, but it makes my stomach churn nervously inside my body. That instinctive baseless feeling I hate so much is back, and this time it's saying that nothing good can come of this. It tells me that something bad, something I cannot prevent is about to happen. 

I don't know what is coming next. I can only do my best to prepare, to remember myself and my beliefs. Order. Justice. Fairness. Kindness. Mercy. I am all these things. I have to be, for the good of all the Gladers who trust in me right now, who are looking to me to make the right choices. I can't know how I've done so far, how things might have been different. I have been true and honest to myself though, and I think that I can live with that. I think that somewhere distant Nick is proud of me. He is watching me and the decisions I am making and I believe he trusts in me to do what is right. I'm strong enough to be that person. I am whole, all the pieces of myself assembled back together where I can watch over them and take care of them. I can do what is right for them and for the others. I can even do right for Gally, if he would just let me. I already have a good idea what I'll face in the meeting, and what I must do. Tommy might not be pleased, but I find I can live with that because I'm doing what is fair. I can last a little longer. I can hold the Glade together. 

What comes after, well, I guess we will have to see together. I'm not as afraid as I used to be.


End file.
